A Symphony of Death and Sorrow
by Mikkle-xD
Summary: A Symphony of Death and Sorrow is my first attempt at writing a short-story series. Is it very inspired by the Warcraft and even borrows names, words, etc. from the universte, though it may not be directly related to places and stories in Warcraft.
1. Chapter 1

**A Symphony of Death and Sorrow**  
_Shadows of a Betrayer_

  
PART ONE:_  
_  
**A **thousand rays of light licked the grassy hills gently, comforting, as the darkness of night faded away and the two suns rose, one in the east and one in the west.  
The grass swayed in the early morning breeze, satisfied and well rested.  
Above, on the blue sky, clouds formed and the suns shone intensely.  
Somewhere in tdhe distance, a low, constant rumble could be heard. Slowly but surely it grew louder and more powerful, till the small pebbles and the grass straws trembled.  
The clouds turned dark and began to mass, blocking out the reassuring sunlight.  
Thousands of figures appeared over the eastern hills, marching, chanting, their boots trampling the grass, their formations tight and disciplined.  
To the west appeared even more figures, but these did not march in line or rank, they did not look organized or orderly and they did not chant.  
No these figures shambled forward, their bones clattering, pieces of rotten meat falling off decaying bodies, eyes as blue as the deep, dark ocean.  
These were the Undead Hordes, the Scourge of Humanity, the Lifebane Armies - and they were never ending and never fearful.  
The young recruits and old veterans of the human army all felt cold things run down their spines and terror gripping their hearts and minds; they knew there were worse things in life than death.  
They feared falling in battle, not because they would be taken from their families and loved ones, but because they knew the Foe would force them to rise again and fight, unwillingly, their thoughts controlled by the Horde, the Scourge. They feared never tasting food again, never smelling fresh air - and they feared turning on their former friends, fighting their comrades against their own will.  
The many thousands of Skeletons, Zombies, Ghouls and worse, stopped. They stood still and awaited their orders, the command to kill and eradicate and harvest.  
Kurten saw it all from his place in the front line, the first rank. He shivered, his gut curled and hurt and dread filled his thoughts. He knew very well that he would fall today; that we would be one of the first to die to the Foe in many months.  
But then he looked up at the dark sky and noticed a small gap in the foreboding clouds; eight clear rays of light shone through. He knew this was a good sign, a sign that the Light was with them this day - and he felt reassured, as hope and bravery coursed through his being.  
He gripped his sword and shield and tighter. He was ready. If he was going to die he was glad it would be on the battlefield, fighting the Foe of Life, in his King's name.  
_Light be with us_, he whispered to himself in the corners of his mind.  
A horn sounded - it roared, bellowed across the hills. But it was not a man-made horn, no it was a horn crafted by dead fingers and betrayers, a horn of bone and dark magic.  
The Undead Legions began to advance, slowly at first, then faster; the Ghouls and Skeletons ran, charged over the hills towards the human lines. The Zombies that were too mangled to move their legs with such control shambled after them, ready to creep up on the human soldiers when he Ghouls and Skeletons had gotten their attention.  
Kurten took a long, deep breath and then exhaled. He felt the Light enter him and he felt fear, dread and hopelessness leave him. He was ready.  
The Undead Horde came closer, running, sprinting in their mindless frenzy, baying for their blood. He could smell their stench and nearly gagged.  
"Stand fast men!" his Captain, Captain Lysander Homegrin, shouted determined. "Hold your ground! Let them come to us!"  
Somewhere far behind them, behind the hundreds of formations of footsoldiers, the archers made ready to fire. Arrows were drawn and readied, and in unison the lines of archers aimed upwards.  
"FIRE!" someone bellowed from the archer lines, so far away that Kurten hadn't heard the word but made it in his head to be "fire".  
Countless arrows whistled over the footsoldiers, flying towards the charging Undead Horde. They filled the sky for a moment, before raining down upon the Foe.  
Kurten saw thousands fall, but it didn't seem to have any real impact on the "morale" or size of the Foe's forces. They were numberless.  
Another volley of archer fire flew over their heads and felled another thousand Undead, but again it did not seem to make any difference; if an Skeleton or Ghoul fell, another simply took its place.  
The footsoldiers, including Kurten, stood uneasily, nervous and scared.  
"Do not despair!" Captain Lysander shouted, his voice steady and reaffirming. "The Light is with us! Muster all your strength and all your courage and fight the Foe! Our lines must not falter, and they-" he pointed at the nearing Undead formation with the tip of his mighty sword "-must not be allowed to befoul our lands anymore!"  
Kurten was just about to think of his family, to view the images in his head of his childhood and his brothers and sisters, but it was too late - the Horde, the Lifebane Army had reached them.  
The Undead Legions clashed into the human soldiers, pushing them back with their numbers, the force of tens of thousands of running corpses almost unstoppable.  
"Stand fast!" Kurten heard his Captain shout from somewhere.  
Everything around him seemed to be bone, rotten flesh and crude armor; he swung his sword in all directions, not knowing, not caring if he hit someone, _something_.  
The sounds of thousands of swords meeting almost drowned out the noise of the Undead snarls, moans and Skeletal crackles.  
Kurten could see no one around him - all he saw were was the soldiers of the Foe. So he swung his sword yet again and again, cutting of decayed limbs and old bones.  
He killed and killed again; though in his mind he knew that these beings were already _dead_.  
And then he noticed the lack of despair in his thoughts, the lack of fear. It was like he had never felt such feelings, like they did not exist. Instead he felt courage, strength and the will to fight till no more Undead stood. The Light was with him, it granted him faith and it granted him knowledge - the knowledge that could only be learned on the battlefield.  
Something burned inside him, set his inner being ablaze; _power_.  
It was being channeled into him, from the rays of light above - the Light was fueling him.  
He stood for a moment and gazed down at his hands. They felt different somehow.  
His fingers gripped his sword tighter than he had ever thought they could, and suddenly his sword was aflame, burning bright with orange-red fire. A surge of energy went through his body and something inside of him _exploded_; the Undead around him were cast away in bright, glowing light and vaporized. He did not hesitate to attack the stunned Foe-creatures around him.  
His sword gave the Foe's troops' lost, tortured spirits rest as it set their dead bodies ablaze with Holy Fire and turned them into piles of ashes and scorched bones. Hundreds were cut down by him in a matter of seconds and even though more and more kept coming, his faith did not falter and his will made him press on.  
He put his left arm forward and words where whispered in his mind, whispered by someone other than himself. Fiery light shot out of his palm and burnt everything and everyone standing in front of him. He then walked forwards, cutting down, no vaporizing, all that dared challenge him, with his flaming sword and the power of the Light.  
When the suns set that day, Kurten had defeated the entire Lifebane Army and left nothing but ashes in his wake. The surviving human forces, which thanks to him were very plentiful, came to his side. They congratulated him and cheered in the name of the Light - but he could not hear them. He felt weak and powerless and everything was a blur to him. He collapsed into the burnt remains of the Foe Legions he had felled moments earlier.


	2. Chapter 2

**A Symphony of Death and Sorrow**

_Shadows of a Betrayer_

PART TWO:

_**Distant**__, muffled voices…_

_Dark, foreboding voices…_

_First concern, then anger, then disappointment…_

_A discussion, between wise minds… Harsh words… _

_Raised voices, arguing, unable to agree about something…_

"_We cannot know if this was an act of the Light or an act of Demonic influence," the loudest, most recognizable voice says. "And until we find out which it was, I think its best we __do not speak too much of this matter – it must be kept secret. Go out and find every man and woman who saw what happened – and make them shut up."_

"_How?" another voice ask__s, his voice worried and low, almost as low as a whisper.. "There were thousands of troops there. How do you suggest we shut all those up, my Lord?"_

"_Either with gold," the first voice answers. "Or with the tip of a blade – I do not care which. As long as this is kept secret, the method in which you persuade our good troops does not concern me."_

"_Of course my Lord, I will get started immediately. Do you require anything else from me?"_

"_I require you to leave, now. I need to be alone with our young soldier here. I need to know what he's thinking, what he's dreaming. Lock the door when you leave."_

"_Yes Sire. I'll go now."_

_Footsteps, then a door opens. Shortly after it closes shut and a key is turned._

"_What is going on inside your mind?" the voice, the "lord" of some kind, asks. _

_Kurten wants to answer – he can hear him perfectly, but cannot utter any words, cannot open his eyes or move his aching limps. Something is wrong, but he doesn't know what._

_Was he poisoned? Or did the Light take all his life force?_

_And had it even been the Light that had powered him during the battle? Or had it been something much darker, much sinister. He did not know._

"_I must say," the voice begins again. "That what you did on the battlefield was mo__st impressive. A flaming sword and explosions of Light energies. Very, very impressive. I wonder how it was you did it."_

_Kurten can't answer that question, even if his voice did work, because he does not know. Like so many other things, he does not know the "why" and the "how", he simply accepts things the way they are and follow his orders._

"_Hm… I have to leave you now – but don't worry, I'll come back tomorrow. Sleep well, soldier."_

_The man stands, turns and leaves the room. Again a heavy door is closed and a key is turned._

_And something moves inside him, something that has been with him ever since the battle, something he cannot control, a being of energy, but what kind of energy he doesn't know. It rips into his thoughts and grabs his memories – he tries to fight it, but in vain. He is too weak and the being is too strong._

_It consumes his memories. It takes them from the bottom of his mind and consumes them, eats them, steals them. _

_Happy flashes of his childhood, his first girlfriend, the lush, flourished forests of his homeland, everything that he holds dear, it takes from him. He wants to fight it, but all that he can do is sit by and watch as it steals the essence of his soul, his personality, everything that made him who he is. _

_The being takes another of his memories as he tries to simply ignore it and rest. _

**He **awoke suddenly, bathed in sweat and exhausted.

His eyes panicky looked around, examining the room he finds himself in.

Drab, gray walls of stone. An old wooden table and a chair. A single painting hangs on the walls, showing a gathering of men clad in armor standing around a round table, praying and chanting.

_The High Council, the Paladins of Light._

He tried to stand, but his legs and arms hurt too much, and he was dizzy and his vision was blurry and unfocused.

All he saw were different shades of gray – the walls, the table and the chair, even the painting; dark tints of gray, lighter tints, a strange mix of both. There was no color, but the color gray.

He shook his head, sure that he must have hit it somehow.

_What's going on? Where are all the colors?_

The heavy, wooden door swung inwards with a long, tormented creak, and a man enters the room.

He is wearing a robe that clearly tells he is a priest of some sorts. But Kurten remembers the priests' robes to be yellow and orange and red, not a mix of dark and light gray.

He shook his head again, hoping the effect would go away.

"You're awake, I see?" the man said, and Kurten recognizes the voice from before.

"Yes, yes I am," Kurten replied. Speaking hurts his throat and mind.

"Good, I'm glad to see that," the man said and sat down on the chair. "Do you remember anything from the battle?"

Kurten nodded, slowly and wearily. "I remember a few things, but not much."

"What do you remember?"

He told the man the things he remembered; the rays of light, the burning power inside, the flaming sword and the ashes of those he had slain. The man nodded thoughtfully and stood up.

"I must take this to the High Priesthood. You should get some rest while I'm gone. I don't think I will be back before nightfall, so go to sleep, for both our sakes."

"What time is it now?" Kurten asked.

"It is midday," the man replied, then turned and left the room, locking it behind him.

_Midday? But.._

Kurten didn't want to go to sleep; he felt that when he slept, something dark inside him arose and did things to his mind. He couldn't explain it and he wouldn't talk to anyone about it, as they would all mark him as crazy.

So instead he sat on his bed, for many long hours, watching the gray room he had awoken in, thinking about the battle, trying to remember his childhood and his family, but it was like those memories had never been there.

They were gone. All he saw was gray, and he remembered nothing of his loved ones.


End file.
